


The Penguin Comes to Stay/The Penguin Goes Away

by DwarvenBeardSpores, LauraDoloresIssum



Category: Batman (1966), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alliteration, Character Development, Cheap Special Effects, Criminal Capers, Deathtraps (of the useless variety), Episode Style, Gen, M/M, Secret Identities, Two-parter, Wholesome Morals™, Written Television Episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 22:12:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DwarvenBeardSpores/pseuds/DwarvenBeardSpores, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraDoloresIssum/pseuds/LauraDoloresIssum
Summary: Completely reformed (yet again), the Penguin begins his reintegration into society as a houseguest at Stately Wayne Manor. Batman and Robin suspect the feathered fiend is up to something, especially when he renews his association with that Prince of Puzzlers: the Riddler.





	1. Episode I: The Penguin Comes to Stay

It was a normal day in Gotham City. In fact, the only event of note was that the Penguin had been released from Gotham City Penitentiary. After a reasonable amount of time locked up for his latest scheme (robbing a jewelry store), there seemed no more reason to keep him there. He claimed to be a completely reformed man, and seemed to be quite sincere in his desire to molt his previous life of crime. He was polite, sophisticated, and had been in every way a model prisoner during his short stay in his reserved cell, and Warden Crichton and the prison psychologist were quite convinced by his penitent attitude. Even Commissioner Gordon was charmed.

“Mr. Penguin,” he said heartily at the release meeting, clapping his hand into Penguin’s glove, “I admit that we’ve been wrong before about you. This isn’t the first time you’ve acted converted, you know,” he added with a smile.

Penguin chuckled throatily through his cigarette holder. “Yes, that is flawlessly factual, my dear Commissioner. And I did a fine job fooling you all those times, if I may say so myself.”

Laughter was heard from the assembled officials.

“You did, you did,” Commissioner Gordon agreed, waggling a finger.

“But _now_ , I assure you fine gentlemen, I am a wholly and truly reformed bird, ready to turn over a new feather, of a brighter and cleaner color than ever before!” the Penguin shouted, and the room applauded. “Why, even Doctor Irving agrees,” and here he gestured to Doctor Samuel “Inkblot” Irving, a famous forger recently released from prison himself and even more recently a graduate of Miskatonic University’s prestigious criminal-psychology-and-forensics program, “that my criminal compulsion has completely abated!”

The Doctor nodded seriously. “Yes, I have questioned him thoroughly in interviews, and he has been psychoanalyzed as completely as anyone has ever been. I’ll admit, I feel great pride for this man. I myself still struggle with my repressed desires to slip back into my criminal past. Why, even on his reports last week, I could not control myself from falsifying entire paragraphs! But this Penguin has managed to reform himself entirely. I’m quite impressed. And for myself, every day I improve a little more.” There was another burst of spontaneous applause. “Thank you,” he said, pushing his glasses up modestly.

“Now, Mr. Penguin, before you leave this facility there is something you should know. Since all of your old haunts are criminal in nature and it would be very untherapeutic for you to go back there, we’ve had to find a different living space to accommodate you, and have not turned up anything yet,” warned Commissioner Gordon. Penguin’s cigarette holder drooped in disappointment.

“The good news is, I’m sure my friend Bruce Wayne and his youthful ward Dick Grayson would be happy to board you until suitable arrangements can be made. I know you are used a certain lifestyle that prison does not accommodate, and I see no reason for you to be forced into any discomfort simply because you are a convicted supervillain.”

“ _Waugh waugh_.” The Penguin shook Gordon’s hand warmly. “Your kindness will not be forgotten, Commissioner.”

The millionaire Bruce Wayne, who had been inconspicuously standing beside the desk, frowned. “I wasn’t aware of these arrangements,” he said slowly.

The Commissioner looked up, his grey brows knotted in concern. “It won’t be a problem, will it, Bruce?”

Bruce and Dick Grayson, his youthful ward, exchanged serious looks. “No, of course not. If he is truly reformed, I’m sure there will be no objections."

“Bruce is just worried about having a former criminal in the house,” said Dick forthrightly. “How do we know he’s not just going to go back to his life of crime? Aunt Harriet might have to lock up all our silver.”

“Slander, young sir! I assure you, I am completely reformed,” huffed the Penguin, glaring through his monocle. “I have a Certificate of Sanity right here!” He waved it. It clearly read _Certificate of Sanity._

“Oh, I’m sure Penguin won’t be a nuisance.” Commissioner Gordon laid a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “And after all, it’s only for a few weeks.”

“Great, three weeks with the Penguin,” groaned Dick. “That’s a whole summer camp!”

Bruce sighed and took the Commissioner’s hand. “Alright, we’ll take him.”

"Wonderful! I'm glad you're so accommodating despite the short notice."

While Penguin was signing the release papers, Dick pulled Bruce around into a corner.

"Bruce! We can't let the Penguin live in Wayne Manor! What if he finds the secret entrance to the Batcave hidden in the library?"

"Now Dick, have some compassion. Who would turn down a man in need, just because of his super-criminal past? There is a chance that Penguin's really reformed this time."

"Gosh, Bruce, I don't know about this. After all the times he's tried to kill us!"

"Now Dick, where's your faith in humanity?"

Dick sighed. "I guess you're right. But I'm going to be keeping an eye on that sneaky bird."

"Of course. And this time, we should have no trouble keeping track of him."

Dick opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Commissioner Gordon. "Bruce! What are you talking about over there?"

Luckily, Bruce was well trained in the art of keeping his secret conversations secret. "Oh, nothing, Commissioner. We were just... discussing which guest wing of Wayne Manor we were going to offer our new housemate."

The Penguin scurried past them to the door, his release papers and Certificate of Sanity tucked safely under his arm. “Splendid! Where’s the car?”

* * *

Penguin seemed quite entranced by Wayne Manor. “My, my, what a remarkable residence you have, Mr. Wayne!” He took a moment to readjust his monocle. “Is that an original Monet?” he gasped as they entered the foyer, waddling up to the painting of the Garden.

“It sure is!” said Dick, “And you had better keep your hands to yourself around it!”

“I would never dream of such a thing!” Penguin only leaned in slightly, as though he was pressing his nose to an invisible pane of glass, clearly unwilling to so much as breathe on it. His gloved hands resolutely clasped his cigarette holder behind his back.

“Now, Dick, Mr. Penguin just has an appreciation for the arts. There’s no reason to be rude to a guest.”

They went into the parlor, and Penguin threw a respectful glance around the oak paneling and the tasteful furnishings. “I am very grateful to you for putting me up in your home like this. Yes, very grateful.” The Penguin pumped Bruce's hand. "It is a sign of your good breeding, sir!" he said, grinning around his cigarette holder. He looked down at their clenched hands. "My, that's quite a healthy grip you have."

"I occasionally indulge in tennis," said Bruce, removing his hand from Penguin's glove.

"Certainly, certainly!" His eyes sparkled. "I suppose I should take up something of the sort myself!” He laughed.

There was a knock at the door. “Sir. Young Master Dick. I have lunch.” Alfred entered, carrying two sandwiches on a tray. When he saw the Penguin, his eyebrows shot up. “The Penguin!”

“ _Waugh waugh!_ ” the Penguin agreed gleefully. “That’s me!”

Alfred looked as though he was considering bashing Penguin over the head with the tray, so Bruce cut in quickly. “Mr. Penguin is going to be staying in the north guest wing for a few weeks, Alfred.”

“It’s just Penguin, please.” He sat down on their couch, puffing away. “I can see that I am among friends here. Friends can indulge in intimacies!”

“In that case,” said Alfred delicately, “I suppose _three_ sandwiches would be in order, sir.”

“Yes, Alfred. That would seem so.”

Alfred retired with the tray.

“Oh, Alfred.”

“Yes, Master Bruce?”

“Would you…” he looked at Penguin and back, “ _dust the library_ , Alfred?”

“As soon as lunch is served, sir.” Alfred withdrew.

“The library?” the Penguin inquired. He sat forward. “I would very much like to peruse your selection, Mr. Wayne, if you would be amenable. The books available to us poor prisoners in the Gotham City Penitentiary are not suitable for a man of fine intellect and finer feathering, I’m afraid.”

Bruce and Dick exchanged a serious glance.

“I’m afraid, Penguin, that the library has not been dusted for some time and requires thorough cleaning. Perhaps it would be more in keeping with your new civic disposition if you would obtain a public library card from the Gotham Public Library.”

“Library card? A library card?” The Penguin looked delighted, his eyes bright. “Why, my dear Mr. Wayne, what an ingenious insinuation! A spectacular suggestion, steeped in superlative sensibility! Yes! I will support the public conveniences of my grand city, and obtain a humble, law-abiding library card! Ha ha!” He puffed excitedly on his cigarette holder. “Why, I don’t think I’ve ever actually visited the public library before. My criminal lifestyle left very little to spare for such wonderful pastimes.”

He leapt up. "I shall depart immediately! Which way?"

Dick seemed to soften a little bit. “We may as well wait for the sandwiches, Penguin. I’m sure my Aunt Harriet put a lot of effort into making them. Then I could have Alfred drive us both there.”

“ _Waugh waugh_. Of course! Forgive my impatience, young man. I forget my manners as a guest, in my eagerness to leap into the wide clear ocean of being a Gotham citizen. Of course I will wait to eat with you both, and then I would be honored if you would accompany me.” He grasped Dick’s hand and shook it also, and Dick smiled a bit, all previous enmity between them apparently forgotten.

The Penguin’s enthusiasm had not diminished by the time they arrived at the library. While Alfred and Dick lingered by the display of new books near the door, he strode up to the counter, back very straight, and politely tapped the bell to summon a clerk.

“Yes, my fine fellow, how would I go about getting a public card?”

“Are you a resident of Gotham City?”

“I most certainly am! I have lived here for thirty years.”

“And do you have paperwork to that effect?”

The Penguin _waugh_ ed in disappointment as he patted his pockets. “I’m afraid not, sir. I have been a notorious criminal for many years, and all I have is this Certificate of Sanity from Gotham City Penitentiary. Will that suffice?”

“Of course. The library welcomes everyone. May I see it?”

He handed over the Certificate, and the clerk left to be replaced by another, who was noticeably more enthusiastic.

“Well well well,” he whispered gleefully, and his voice grew higher with every word. “Look. Who’s. Getting. A. Library. Card!” He clamped a hand over his grin and giggled into it, looking around with a mischievous glance to see if anyone noticed.

“Riddler? Is that you?”

Suddenly serious again, the clerk (who was, when one looked at the plain green suit and question-mark cufflinks, quite obviously the Riddler) said, “Hello, Pengy. I heard you had been released. Back to your old tricks, eh?”

Penguin leaned on the counter and smiled at his old friend. “I’ve been released from the Penitentiary with assurances that my criminal impulses have been completely cured. I’ve been graciously invited to stay with that millionaire Bruce Wayne until more suitable lodgings can be found.”

“Gee!” whispered Dick to Alfred from across the vast marble lobby, “that’s the Riddler! I almost didn’t recognize him with his mask off! Should we do something?”

"I think not, Master Dick," whispered Alfred. "This may be a temptation the Penguin must overcome by himself, in order to truly be a reformed man."

Dick bit his lip. “I don’t know, Alfred. It makes me real nervous to see him standing up there with the Riddler. Who knows what the two of them might be plotting?”

He strode determinedly across the Gotham City Library lobby, and arrived at Penguin’s shoulder just in time to hear,

“...Wayne Manor patio at one today. Acceptable?”

“Oh, wonderful, hee hee hee!” The Riddler glanced down as the machine next to him spun something on top and clunked loudly. In an instant he was all professionalism. “And here is your card and documentation back, sir.” He paused to wink quite obtrusively. “We hope to see you again soon.”

“Quite soon, my dear sir.” The Penguin smiled like a fox in the proverbial stately Wayne Manor. “Quite soon indeed.”

“What was all that about?” Dick demanded as they strode away from the counter.

“Why, young man, I was simply hoping to receive a social call from an old friend of mine,” said Penguin as he delicately tapped bindings with his umbrella. “One of the pleasures of no longer being imprisoned. I will of course be sure not to intrude upon your graciousness any more than strictly necessary. Ah!” He pulled out a volume. “ _The Prince_ , of course, haven’t read that in such a long time, _waugh_.”

By the time they left, Penguin was carrying a small stack of books, including _The Prince_ , _You Only Live Twice_ , _Rosemary’s Baby_ , and _The History of Lacemaking_. “The twenty-second, yes, that’s plenty of time,” he mused to himself, his umbrella clicking on the steps. “Gentlemen, I am at your disposal if you have any more errands to run.”

As he waddled towards the car, Dick held Alfred back. “Did you hear that?” he whispered. “The Penguin wants to bring the Riddler to Wayne Manor. We’ve gotta tell Bruce.”

“I believe that would be prudent,” Alfred agreed.

However, Bruce seemed less than concerned with this news. “Well, that shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “Perhaps Alfred can bring them some tea.”

“Bruce!” Dick exclaimed. “You can’t be serious! _Two_ super-villains right outside the Bat Cave—”

“Will give us the perfect opportunity to keep an eye on them,” Bruce interjected smoothly. “You and I will have some business to attend to in the manor, and Penguin can have some much-needed socialization. You said the Riddler would be arriving on the patio at one in the afternoon?”

* * *

But Bruce was unaware that the afternoon had never been part of the plan. One p.m. came, then two, and still the Penguin seemed perfectly at ease. He sat in the study reading as the grandfather clock chimed two-thirty. After dinner, the Penguin politely turned in without a word about his apparent missed appointment. Seemingly baffled, Bruce and Dick went to their own bedrooms as well, and fell asleep considering the riddle that was the absence of the Riddler himself.

The night was dark and the moon was partially concealed by the clouds. The Penguin sat on the roof of Wayne Manor, humming “Easter Parade” to himself and swinging his umbrella idly. He pulled out his pocket-watch and checked the time. One minute to one in the morning.

“Psssh!” A figure in a bowler hat and a vivid green suit detached from the bushes and snuck on tiptoe across the empty stones. “Penguin, you pernicious pigeon!” he whispered loudly. “You said the patio!”

“My dear Riddler, I’m sure you could trouble yourself to use the ladder.” Penguin gestured genteelly to the top of a long ladder sitting nearby.

“How does a poor man raise himself up in the world?” the Riddler muttered under his breath, as he scaled the ladder like a lizard. Penguin moved over slightly and pulled on the brim of his purple top hat. Riddler took off his shoes and kicked his feet back and forth over the edge like a boy, his face full of perpetual glee. “A good friend... and a better ladder!” He giggled madly, pleased with his own riddle. Penguin gave an appreciative _waugh,_ and took firm hold of Riddler’s elbow to keep him from falling off the roof.

As always, Riddler composed himself with alarming abruptness. “So why the sudden change, old friend? Not enough privacy on the ground?” He shaded his eyes with his hand and peered out over the miles of unpopulated country that surrounded Wayne Manor. “Or perhaps you’re finally looking for a place to nest, eh?”

“Penguins nest on the ground, my conundrum-cracking compatriot. I simply appreciate the view. How is my beautiful Iceberg Lounge?”

“Oh, steady as she goes, Penguin, steady as she goes. We just finished the Open Night in honor of your release. Half of the bigwigs in Gotham were in attendance to celebrate your reformation!”

“Hrrmmm. I suppose you relieved them of the burden of their valuables?”

Riddler giggled madly. “Of course, of course! Here!” He pulled watches and jewelry out of hidden pockets in his suit and clapped them into Penguin’s glove.

“Hrm.” He pocketed them a trifle thoughtfully. “And you inundated them with your insufferable inquiries as well, I imagine?”

“How are the rich like an apple orchard?” He paused, but when Penguin didn’t respond, he answered himself. “Easy pickings, but not a brain among them!”

“It’s true, it’s true,” the Penguin agreed. “But I hope you didn’t kill them for it, my hysterical host. They’re more use to me alive than they are dead.”

“So you say, so you say, but riddle me this, Pengy. How can they still be useful if they know not to associate with either of us again?”

Penguin grimaced gloomily and hoisted his umbrella. “Some advice, Riddler. Wear a fine suit and keep good manners, and the cream of Gotham will keep coming back to you no matter how many times you empty their pockets. Hmph!”

The Riddler’s mouth fell into a rare frown of concern. “Why, you seem down, old friend! Whatever is the matter?”

“ _Waugh! Waugh!_ ” The Penguin waved his hand irritably. “No criminal likes to think of the man he could have been, Riddler. I could have been a good, upstanding citizen like the Mister Wayne who sleeps below this roof. His delightful domicile reminds me of the house I grew up in, back when I was an innocent boy without a touch of villainy in my heart.”

“Did things not turn out for you as planned?” Riddler clasped his hands together and put on a face of brief seriousness. “Ooo- _hh_! I do hate it when things don’t go according to plan.”

“Not at all, I’m afraid. But, it is all water under the iceberg now.” He tapped his hat and raised his umbrella in the air. “Now, I am The Penguin, and there is no going back!”

“So, what is your latest plot?” asked Riddler eagerly, leaning in. “Oh!” He held up a finger. “Mister Freeze just got put away, you could try to freeze the world in a block of ice without competition! I’ll just have to think of a riddle for ‘radiator!’ Hee hee!”

“Hrmm hrmm _waugh_.” Penguin bobbed his cigarette holder up and down. “No, no. I do hate reusing schemes. I’ve been thinking of founding an ornithological society. ‘Save the Dodo!’ Those supercilious society nitwits will lap it up! Easier than poisoning pigeons in the park!”

“Hee hee! Yes! Oh, but Penguin,” he gripped Penguin’s shoulder, “don’t you think it’s too… simple? Just take the money and run? Where’s the intellectual engagement? The elaborate clockwork of a well-laid plan? The trickery? The _puzzles_?”

“Dear Riddler, if you are minded to share the money, being rich provides more ‘intellectual engagement’ than you might think.” He chuckled heartily as he pulled out one of his library books and placed the bookmark (a goose feather) in his buttonhole. “I give you my good word. And if at the end, you are not satisfied, we could always settle together and take up crime as a pair.”

Riddler gasped and tittered. “You mean it?” he whispered, staring right into Penguin’s face. “My own little Cyrano?”

Penguin reached below Riddler’s leaning body and turned a page of _You Only Live Twice_ with some difficulty. “Hrm.”

“Then count me in!” Riddler grabbed his hand and shook enthusiastically.

“Very well. In only a few days, Mister Wayne will be departing for the Annual Millionaires’ Conference near Short Island. I will accompany him and take in as many donations as I can. Perhaps I can even convince them to make it the theme of the Conference beforehand…” He _waugh_ ed thoughtfully. “I shall rely on you to foil Batman and Robin, should they deign to make an appearance. You can come up with something creative, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I have some truly punitive puzzles planned, don’t you worry!” He patted Penguin’s glove and then leapt up, twirling in a neat circle and pulling down his bowler hat with considerable aplomb. “I’ll take care of everything!”

Tittering madly, he slid down the ladder and made his joyous way across the patio, to be swallowed by darkness.

The Penguin tapped his umbrella against his spats to the beat of “Easter Parade,” and gazed up at the moon.

* * *

The next morning when Bruce and Dick got up, Penguin was already seated at the breakfast table, complimenting Aunt Harriet on the smell of her cooking, and she seemed entirely charmed.

“Oh, Bruce, Dick,” she exclaimed, rising from the table (Penguin, of course, also rose for the lady), “I admit I was a little fluttery about this arrangement, but it turns out Mister Penguin has quite an interest in embroidery as well! He’s been quite the gentleman.”

Bruce and Dick hid their bewilderment and took their usual chairs. “Well, I certainly am glad that Penguin is proving such a good guest,” said Bruce, tucking in his napkin.

Penguin passed the sausages and leaned forward slightly. “Mister Wayne, I must confess to a consuming curiosity as to how a respectable man conducts himself outside a life of crime. I am told by the charming Miss Harriet here that the Annual Millionaires’ Conference is approaching, and would very much like to accompany you there to engage in some polite philanthropy. I have long had my heart on saving the dodo, a tropical bird very much like a penguin, shunned by the other birds because it cannot fly. And now I finally have the opportunity to do so. What say you?”

“Aha!” exclaimed Dick. “So that’s your plan!”

“Yes indeed!” puffed Penguin, his black eyes twinkling over his beaky nose. He briefly polished his monocle. “My plan to reintegrate into civilized society. I must learn to live among my class of men again! For years I have been consumed by selfishness and criminal enterprise. Gentlemen — lady,” he added graciously to Aunt Harriet, who beamed, “I must start my life entirely anew, with only my wits and the help of a few very powerful friends to find my new way in the world!”

“Huzzah!” said Aunt Harriet, lifting her water glass spontaneously into the air.

* * *

Later, Bruce and Dick snuck into the library.

“Gee!” said Dick, pacing around the desk. “I just don’t know what the Penguin’s planning! This Annual Millionaires’ Conference, do you think it could have something to do with it?”

Bruce leaned meditatively against a bookcase. “Dick, I entirely understand your confusion. I find Penguin’s behavior a bit puzzling myself. He’s shown every sign of sincere reform; he’s even carried Aunt Harriet’s groceries into the house this morning. And I find it hard to reconcile such a dignified temperament with his usual nefarious motivations.” He tapped his chin. “But it just… doesn’t feel right. He was supposed to meet with the Riddler, but apparently forgot his appointment. Unless he _did_ meet with him. Somehow. Somehow.”

“But how?” moaned Dick. “The Penguin can’t be in two places at once!”

Bruce looked up suddenly. “I have an idea! To the Batpoles!”

They pressed the button hidden inside the bust of Shakespeare and descended, allowing the Automatic Bat-Costume Change Lever to do the rest. They landed, now dramatically transformed into Batman and Robin, the Dynamic crime-fighting Duo.

“If the Penguin met with the Riddler, surely the Riddler himself will tell us,” Batman explained, climbing into the driver’s seat of the sleek and well-polished Batmobile. “We just need a riddle that will trick him into answering honestly.”

They sat in solemn silence in the dull dark dock of the Batcave in serious thought.  Then Robin gasped and held up an urgent finger. “I think I have one, Batman!”

He leaned over and whispered in Batman’s ear.

“Well done! We will head there immediately. Seatbelt, Robin. Safety is important above all else.”

They sped out of the Batcave and away towards peaceful Gotham City.

The Riddler’s newest lair wasn’t hard to find; all they had to do was follow the prints left by his distinctive question-mark-patterned soles. They knocked on his green door, whereupon a tiny doorknob in the top part turned and a smaller door opened inside it. The Riddler’s grinning face appeared, framed in the tiny rectangle.

“Batman!” he cried out with only the slightest tinge of concern. “And Robin! What a surprise! Ooooh, riddle me this! What do you call... _a tavern full of blackbirds_? Hee hee hee hee-hee!”

“Good afternoon, Riddler,” said Batman evenly. “May we come in? As duly deputized officers of the law, we have some questions for you.”

“Answer the riddle!” he singsonged, holding up a hand in the little frame of the miniature door. “It’s the _pass-_ word. Answer the riddle, and you can come in.”

“A crowbar.”

Riddler jumped up and down gleefully behind the door. “Oh, very good, Batman! Very. Good. In _deed_! Just a moment.”

The little door closed, and there was the sound of bolts being drawn back. With a flourish, Riddler stood in the doorway, casually dressed in a green vest and black shirt over his suit pants. His jacket was hanging neatly up by the door. “Do come in.”

Riddler’s lair was largely green and covered with question marks. The wallpaper had a pattern of crossword puzzles. The Riddler put on a serious face. “Now. How can I help you gentlemen? Oh! I’m forgetting my manners! Would you like something to drink?”

Batman relented. “Yes, please. Thank you for your... hospitality.”

He left and returned a moment later with three glasses of water. Batman and Robin each took one, and sat together on the green leather couch. Riddler took his place opposite them, on a round chair.

“We… have been told by conscientious citizens that you have met with the supervillain known as ‘The Penguin’ in the last few days since he was released from Gotham City Penitentiary.”

“Ohh, I don’t know where you got that idea,” said Riddler puckishly. “I’ve been busy taking care of the Penguin’s businesses for him, but he and I haven’t spoken in quite some time.”

“I see,” said Batman as he sipped his water, the question-mark-shaped ice cubes clinking around in the glass. “So, you did not have an appointment to meet him at Wayne Manor at one in the afternoon yesterday?”

“Why, _no_ ,” said the Riddler. “I did _not_ have an appointment to meet him at Wayne Manor at one in the afternoon.” He gave his ploy away slightly by giggling. “Tell me, where does a bird that can’t fly, lay an egg?”

“On a roof,” said Batman and Robin simultaneously.

“Correct! You and your ambiguously aged assistant are very good at this!”

“Hmm.” Batman and Robin looked at each other. Robin leaned forward. “If a bird stays up all night and he isn’t an owl, then what is he?”

The Ridder’s face strained and reddened. “A-ah-ah,” he coughed. He looked like a man trying to push something twice his size up a hill. Finally, it burst out. “A PENGUIN!” he shrieked, then looked appalled at himself.

“Thank you, Riddler,” said Batman, setting his water glass down. The Dynamic Duo stood. “You met with Penguin at one in the morning, not one in the afternoon, since criminals like yourselves consort best at night. Well done, Robin. Now we are closer than ever to foiling the Penguin’s plan. Let’s go.”

“Not so fast, _Batman_!” Riddler cried, leaping up furiously. All traces of humor had disappeared. He looked betrayed and humiliated and positively dangerous. “I demand an apology from you this instant!”

Batman paused. “Riddler, this is very unusual. What do I need to apologize for?”

Robin took his upper arm. “Ignore him, Batman. He’s just trying to trick us again.”

“What,” the Riddler began, and stopped to take a calming breath, “does a deposed tyrant have in common with a disrespectful houseguest?” He pulled up his sleeve and checked his wristwatch. “They’re both headed for an inevitable downfall!”

Before the Dynamic Duo could react, he pressed on the face of his wristwatch. The floor beneath the sofa fell away and dumped the heroes into a hidden chute. They landed in a cavernous basement area, inside a giant birdcage. As they struggled to bend the bars, the Riddler spoke to them over an intercom.

“Riddle me this! What does a flock of four dozen vicious Australian seagulls eat? Answer: Anything they want! Hee hee hee-hee-hee! I made this to get rid of unwanted houseguests, hostages I need to dispose of, and aggressive Bible salesmen. It also works well on a certain Dynamic Duo when they come around looking for too many answers!”

Just then, a huge bucket tipped over their heads and dumped a large mixture of seeds, fat, and honey on the heroes. They tried to brush it off, but the seeds adhered to every crease in their outfits.

Robin coughed. “Holy suet, Batman, it’s sticking everywhere!”

“Just… hold your breath, Robin!” Batman said under a shower of bird food. “It’ll stop in a second.”

“And when it does, four dozen vicious Australian seagulls will descend on you and eat everything in sight. But before I go, Batman, here’s one last riddle for you: I serve two houseguests whiskey on the rocks. One of them drinks it quickly while the other one drinks it slowly. In the morning, the man who drank it quickly is alive while the man who drank it slowly is dead. How did I kill him?”

“What does that mean?” cried Robin.

“Don’t think about that right now, Robin! Concentrate on escaping!”

“Goodbye, Batman!” called the Riddler.

At that moment the waterfall of birdseed stopped, and feathery shapes filled the air, diving and pecking. Batman and Robin flinched away from their sharp beaks.

Robin tugged at the bars. “They’re too strong, Batman, I can’t break them!”

Batman flung his weight against it, trying to snap the cage. “Keep… trying, Robin!”

But it was no good. They cowered against the bars. The birds’ harsh cries filled the air.

* * *

 HAVE PENGUIN AND THE RIDDLER FINALLY OUTSMARTED OUR HEROES?

ARE THEY DOOMED TO FALL UNDER THE AVIAN ASSAULT?

IS THIS THE END FOR THE DYNAMIC DUO?

TUNE IN TOMORROW! SAME BAT-TIME, SAME BAT-CHANNEL!


	2. Episode II: The Penguin Goes Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Annual Millionaires’ Conference draws nearer. Can the Dynamic Duo catch the Penguin in something crooked? Or has that crafty bird really changed his ways?

SO FAR, WE HAVE SEEN:

AN UNEXPECTED HOUSEGUEST!

A TWO-FACED PLOT BY THE PENGUIN AND THE PRINCE OF PUZZLERS!

AN AVIARY ATTACK!

BUT WAIT! THE WILDEST IS YET TO COME!

* * *

 The cage was full of four dozen vicious Australian seagulls. The bars were bending, but refusing to break.

“Keep… pushing… Robin!” Batman strained.

“Batman!” Robin shouted back. “They’re just eating the seed! They don’t seem to care about us!”

“Alright, that’ll buy us some time. The Riddler’s ingenuity might have undone him this time.” He fumbled for his utility belt. “I usually keep live fish for when I encounter a hungry seal, but I’m sure they’ll work just as well on these fiends!” He scattered curiously limp and rubbery fish on the ground. Immediately, the seagulls redirected their attack. Batman’s gambit had worked.

“On three, Robin! One! Two! Three!”

They burst through the cage wall. The birds followed, eagerly snapping up the food that was still in the creases of their uniform and on the floor. Soon they had disappeared back to where they had come.

“Let’s get out of here, Robin! Now we must figure out Riddler’s and Penguin’s plan! Commissioner Gordon must be informed immediately!”

* * *

“Ye don’t mean to say that the Penguin has pulled the feathers over our eyes again?” said Chief O’Hara in astonishment. “Why, that beaky bird!”

Commissioner Gordon wiped at his brow with a handkerchief. “I don’t believe it. It’s too horrible to be true. How could a man seem so completely cured?”

Batman gave his shoulder a comforting pat. “I understand, Commissioner. It shocks me to my core. But we mustn’t lose hope. We mustn’t.”

 “He fooled us all!” said Robin, pushing a gloved fist into his hand. “To think of him sleeping under the same roof as sweet old Aunt Harriet!” Fortunately, the policemen were too preoccupied to notice his _faux pas_.

“But what are he and Riddler _planning_ , Batman?” asked Commissioner Gordon anxiously.

“I don’t know,” said Batman slowly. “I think it may have something to do with the Annual Millionaires’ Conference that he’s planning to attend with Bruce Wayne.”

“Just think,” said O’Hara, twisting his cap in both hands, “all those innocent men and women all dressed up in their jewels, with their thick wallets and their blank checks already signed for the charity. A perfect target for a heist!”

“You’ve got it, Chief O’Hara! I can see how you became the Commissioner’s right hand man. The Riddler and the Penguin must have put aside their natural criminal instincts and teamed up, to rob the world’s millionaires overnight! And with them, two thirds of _all the money in Gotham_!”

Commissioner Gordon sank into his chair. “How horrible!” he said again. “That’s over half! How will the Gotham Ladies’ Sewing Circle fund their bake sales? You must put a stop to it, Batman!”

“Don’t worry,” said Batman thoughtfully. “The Riddler may be impossible to find, but there is one half of this crime duo whose whereabouts _are_ accounted for.”

* * *

It was night when they arrived back at stately Wayne Manor. Instead of going to the Batcave, Batman turned up the road leading to the Manor itself.

“We will have to talk to Penguin in person, not just under our civilian identities, but we should be quiet about it so as not to distress Aunt Harriet. Are you ready, Robin?”

“I’m ready, Batman,” said Robin, handing him the Batrope.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the bats napping in the ivy, they climbed the side of stately Wayne Manor. Halfway up, a passing Alfred noticed them and opened a window.

“Oh, sirs, your dinners are covered and sitting in the refrigerator. The Penguin seemed rather down that you were absent. He even expressed concern about your health that you hadn’t telephoned from the car phone. I of course assured him and Aunt Harriet that you were both at a late-afternoon meeting with the state’s Children’s Services Office, completing the annual inspection to maintain young Dick as your legal ward,” he said.

“Admirable discretion, Alfred.”

“As always, sir,” he replied smoothly, smiling. “The Penguin is currently in the study, engaging in boisterous telephone calls with the Conference’s organizers. He’s quite the charmer, sir. He seems dead set on his ornithological philanthropy.” Meaning: he was out of his room.

“I see. Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course, sir.” The window closed.

They climbed up to the balcony that adjoined Penguin’s room and let themselves in with Bruce Wayne’s housekeys.

“Alright, Robin, the Penguin must have left some sign of what he’s planning. Let us, respectfully, go through his things.”

They proceeded, respectfully, to do so, avoiding his sock and underwear drawers, as well as his tuxedo drawer, which were all conveniently labeled in handwritten notes as such. They shook out his notebook, titled SECRET PLANS in all caps, for loose papers but did not actually go through it. They shielded their eyes from his library receipts, which were every citizen’s sacred business. And then, Batman exclaimed, “I’ve got it, Robin!”

“I’ve got it, Robin!” he exclaimed, holding up a half-empty bottle of Chianti from atop the nightstand. “The Penguin’s tastes are to much higher standards than so disinteresting a table wine, and it would pair very poorly with the meals Alfred has been serving for dinner this week! And here, a corner is loose! Penguin’s plan must be written on the inside of the label!”

“Very clever, Batman, but is the bottle half empty, or half full!”

Penguin burst through the door, his umbrella menacingly up. “ _Waugh waugh_ , even as an honest man can I not get a lick of peace?” He adjusted his monocle. “With the owner of the house conveniently out of the way, that’s when you decide to make your move, is it, Batman and Robin? Hardly heroic! You need to be taught some manners, _waugh!_ ”

Robin put up his fists, ready to engage, but Batman held him back. “No, Robin! Remember our mistake with the Riddler.”

Slowly, the eyes of his old enemy, his young protégé, and the wall painting of Thomas Wayne on him, he set the bottle back down.

“You’re right, Penguin,” he said slowly, and in a humble tone that was quite unlike him. “It is unlawful, and more, it is unfair, for duly deputized officers of the law to enter a presumably law-abiding citizen’s dwelling without a warrant. In our haste to prevent what we believe you to be planning to do in future, we are forgetting that you are not committing a crime today. If this bottle of Chianti would not be admissible as evidence in an American court, we should hold ourselves to that same high standard. Come, Robin. We’re leaving.”

Still with his umbrella held out like a fencing foil, Penguin blew a controlled ring of smoke in surprise. “ _Waaaa_ _…?_ ”

Under his astonished stare, they let themselves out onto the balcony. Batman turned. “Please rethink whatever nefarious scheme you have in the works, Penguin. You could have been a better man. The Riddler too. _Honest_ men. Goodnight.”

And with that, they left Penguin standing in the doorway, his cigarette quickly burning itself out, looking more taken aback than he ever had before.

* * *

In order to preserve their secret identities, Batman and Robin had to climb down the Batrope, and drive the Batmobile to the Batcave via the closed-off roads on the edges of the Wayne property. Then they used the Batpoles and Automatic Bat-Costume Change Lever to return to the library dressed as Bruce and Dick, climbed out the library window, and returned via the front door.

“Holy oroborous,” Dick complained. “All this to get right back where we started.”

Normally they would have slammed the door and made a show of entering to make sure the Penguin heard them, but Aunt Harriet was asleep, so they settled for a quiet entrance and a personal visit.

The Penguin’s light was still on when Bruce knocked on his door. He answered with a startled, “ _Waugh!_ ” and then an almost relieved, “Ah, you’re back.”

“Yes,” Bruce said, giving the Penguin a reassuring smile. “I heard from Alfred on the way up that it sounded as though you had some trouble while we were out.”

“Yes, yes.” The cigarette holder, now empty, bobbed between his teeth. “Those mockeries of morality, Batman and Robin, broke into my room, bothered my belongings, and peeked at my private affairs! All without the least cause, I can assure you.”

Bruce and Dick looked suitably abashed, but masked it as concern. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Bruce offered. “I only know Batman in passing, but if you’d like me to speak to him on your behalf…”

“ _Waugh!_ ” _waugh_ ed the Penguin, sounding more confused than anything. “You mean you’re not going to side with that sickening civil servant?”

“Not necessarily,” Bruce said. “While I’m sure Batman and Robin have the best intentions, that doesn’t give them the right to jeopardize the safety of my guests.”

“ _Waughhh_ ,” the Penguin mused. “Well, in _that_ case…”

“But don’t forget,” Dick put in. “If you _are_ up to something—”

Bruce raised a cautioning hand. “Now Dick. I’m sure the Penguin is well aware of the consequences of returning to a life of crime.”

The Penguin nodded.

“And I think we should leave him to rest after what has undoubtedly been a… trying day. Besides, Dick, it’s past your bedtime.”

“Aw, gee, Bruce.”

“Rest, yes, that’s just what I need. Good night to you both.” The Penguin closed the door and loudly locked it. A moment later, they heard him lock the window too.

Bruce and Dick shared a look. It might have been bedtime for Youthful Ward Dick Grayson, but not for Robin the Boy Wonder.

* * *

Alfred poured them both a glass of orange juice.

“Might I suggest, sir, that you both do some reading on the dodo? The Conference will reportedly feature a live specimen as its centerpiece.”

“No,” Bruce mused over his drink. “I don’t mean to insult your advice, Alfred, but I have a feeling that this time the bird is just a red herring. Penguin would keep the true thrust of his scheme cloaked, like the folds of an umbrella concealing its deadly tip. There’s some element we don’t know about yet.”

“And the conference is tomorrow! Gee, if only we could have taken that bottle of wine from the Penguin’s room!” Dick said heavily. “Maybe then we’d know the plan by now!”

“On that particular note I must concur with Master Bruce, sir. It was a very good and honorable thing that he did. Perhaps when you are older, you will understand better.”

“I hate it when grown-ups tell me that,” muttered Dick.

Alfred lay a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t say it to frustrate you, Master Dick, we say it because there are some things only the wisdom and weight of time can slowly construct within our eyes.”

“That’s… a rather poetic image, Alfred,” said Bruce, looking somewhat affected.

“Thank you, sir. While dusting the library, I took the opportunity to brush up on my Tennyson and du Bois. It might have affected me more than I realize.”

“The Riddler posed us a riddle, Alfred.” Bruce swirled juice around in his glass.

“He does tend to do that, sir.”

“He said, ‘I serve two houseguests whiskey on the rocks. One of them drinks it quickly while the other one drinks it slowly. In the morning, the man who drank it quickly is alive while the man who drank it slowly is dead. How did I kill him?’”

They all thought about it, very hard.

“Perhaps it has less to do with the drink and more to do with the glass, sir. If there was poison in the glass before the drink was served, the speed at which it was drunk wouldn’t matter.”

“Perhaps…”

“Maybe the Bat-Computer has an idea,” suggested Dick.

“Good point, Dick. We shall ask it!”

Down in the Bat-Cave, they strode over to the labeled Bat-Computer and fed in the riddle. After only a few moments, it spat out the answer.

Batman held up the ticker-tape and read, “‘The poison is in the ice cubes.’ Of course! Think about it, Robin! The man who drank quickly didn’t give the ice cubes time to melt, but the man who drank slowly, which ordinarily would dilute the drink by adding water from the ice cubes, instead added poison! _This_ must be the part of the plan we’re missing!”

“But Batman, didn’t the Penguin say that the dodo is tropical? Where would it come into contact with ice?”

“And one riddle leads to another,” mused Batman. “Just like that diabolical Prince of Puzzlers. But now we can accompany Penguin to the conference as Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson, and foil his plan, and Riddler’s too!”

* * *

Dusk had fallen on Short Island, and the lights shining over the Sound made the ballroom of the Annual Millionaires’ Conference look like it had been encrusted in diamonds. Penguin could barely control his excitement, waddling from one end of the yacht to the other, cigarette holder bobbing rapidly up and down. As soon as they embarked, however, his feathers abruptly smoothed over, and he was making his way through the crowd of men and women in formal wear, grinning and shaking hands and doffing his top hat like he’d known them all his life, and was taken in with equal enthusiasm. He sidled up to Bruce and Dick, polishing his monocle with one hand and delicately holding a canape in the other.

“What lovely people are here tonight,” he said. “I know many of them from the Iceberg Lounge! _Waugh, waugh!_ ” He bit the canape, and Bruce and Dick subtly relaxed. So there was no poison there.

“Can I… interest you in a drink?” asked Bruce cautiously.

“Oh, don’t put yourself to the trouble, sir, I only drink water.”

“I see.” He and Dick shared a glance. “In that case, so do we.”

The Penguin didn’t seem the least bit put off. “And a good evening to you both, then! It’s nearly time for my big announcement!” He winked and disappeared into the crowd.

“Here it comes,” breathed Bruce Wayne, watching Penguin’s violet top hat bob its way to the stage and slip behind the purple curtains. Dick contained himself for the three steps it would take Penguin to get out of earshot, then burst out, “Gosh, Bruce. We’ve been watching him all evening, and the worst thing Penguin has done is threaten to make a speech!”

Bruce’s face was grim. “I’m worried too, old chum. But our only hope is to stay ever-vigilant. And pay attention to that speech. Penguin might drop clues as to what he’s planning.”

“Right.” Dick glared at the stage as though the Penguin was already pontificating atop it. “And I’ll see if I can spot the Riddler. That venomous viper has to be around here somewhere.”

Meanwhile, the Penguin slipped backstage through the heavy purple curtain. “Is everything in place, my minister of machinations?” He leaned close, puffing on his eternal cigarette.

“Why might you expect to find the upper crust down by a lake?” The Riddler could barely contain his excitement. He was wearing a green button-down and a bushy fake mustache so he wouldn’t stand out. “Because they’re all sitting ducks!” He broke into a gleeful giggle that was not at all muffled by the mustache, which had started to droop.

“ _Waugh_ , _waugh_! That’s what I like to hear.”

The Riddler rubbed his hands together. “The millionaires are milling, the dodo is a go-go, and best of all, there’s no sign of those perpetual party-poopers, Batman and Robin!”

“Good!” The Penguin held Riddler still for a moment, long enough to smooth out the mustache. “Perhaps, despite how insufferable they’ve been, we’ve actually managed to outwit them for once! With a little help from millionaire Bruce Wayne, that is.”

“Oh, yes. Set a millionaire to catch a millionaire.” The Riddler had abruptly gone serious, contemplative. “Won’t the look on his face be beautiful when he realizes you’ve betrayed him?”

“Yes, well. _Waugh_.” The Penguin tugged on his lapels and puffed on his cigarette, looking almost displeased at the prospect.

“Oh no, Pengy. Don’t tell me you’re getting warm feet at the last minute.”

The Penguin scowled. “Of course not, of course not, _waugh_. It’s probably just nerves for that sanctimonious speech I’m about to give.”

The Riddler picked up Penguin’s hand and patted it encouragingly. “When is a public speaker like a kidnapper? When they hold the audience captive!” He dissolved into another fit of laughter, pausing only to plant a quick kiss on Penguin’s temple. “Fear not, my birdish beau. You’re going to knock. Them. Out!” With that, and another high-pitched giggle, he shoved the Penguin toward the stage.

Their timing was impeccable. The official Annual Millionaires’ Conference MC (wearing a large nametag that said _Annual Millionaires’_ _Conference MC_ ), was currently onstage. “And now we’ve got a very special cause, headed by a very special man. Please welcome the Penguin, representing his new ornithological society: Save the Dodo!”

There was a rich smattering of applause as the Penguin stepped out, beaming widely at the crowd.

“This is it!” Dick hissed inconspicuously at Bruce.

Bruce nodded. “Stay on your toes, old chum.”

“Friends,” Penguin began. “Ornithologists, millionaires. I have for you tonight the tragic tale of the dodo, a bird beaten down, driven out of habitat after habitat, but now, finally, perhaps, on the cusp of a comeback. You will find sitting on the endtables a number of empty crystal punchbowls. Any donations you might care to contribute to my charitable cause can go in there, either now or at the end of the evening. Cash, check, bullion, or precious stones are all accepted.”

He clapped his hands, and the curtains behind the stage parted. A thin, energetic man in a green button-down shirt and a thick mustache appeared, pushing a cart on which rested a mysterious covered cube. He gave the audience a quick wave, clearly delighted to be onstage.

“Look, Dick!” Bruce murmured urgently. “That could be the Riddler!”

“Holy handlebar! That’s him alright. Not even a mustache could hide that villain. Let’s get him.”

“Not yet. They still have yet to do anything illegal, and it would be extremely rude to interrupt the Penguin’s speech for a crime we can’t even prove exists.”

The cube in place, the Penguin continued. “I have brought for you tonight a genuine specimen of this bird, frozen, of course, to survive being shipped from its naturally tropical environment…”

“Inhumanity to dodos!” Dick exclaimed.

“…a process which I assure you is entirely humane.” The Penguin grinned. “Mr. Green, will you do the honors?”

With a flourish, the Riddler-in-disguise whipped off the cloth. Underneath it was a huge cube of smoking ice with something murky in the center. As soon as the cloth was removed, vapor began roiling off it in thick waves.

“Ladies, gentlemen, others, _waugh_. I give you… the dodo!”

The room applauded, with the distinct sound of rattling jewelry.

“Holy Good Humor,” Dick breathed. “A giant _ice cube_. I’ll bet you anything it’s filled with the Riddler’s poison!”

Bruce nodded. “Under those stage lights, in this room filled with the body heat of dozens of millionaires, I give it only a few minutes before the ice is completely melted. Come on, Dick.”

As they began to push through the crowd, Aunt Harriet intercepted them. “Now where are you going in such a hurry?” she asked. “The Penguin’s only just started talking about his wonderful charity.”

“I hate to miss it,” Bruce said, thinking quickly, “but you see, I think I left my wallet and my checkbook in the car. It would be impossible to give a donation without them.”

And with that, they escaped, and made their way out the door.

The Penguin took a moment to wipe a small tear from the corner of his eye. “Mr. Green” patted his shoulder gently as they stood amid the rising fumes.

“I would also like to take a moment,” he scanned the crowd for Bruce’s face and frowned as he found it absent, “to thank my friend Bruce Wayne, for the help and kindness he has shown me over the last few weeks. Truly, this charity would be nothing without him.” He coughed, and recovered his composure.

“But, my gracious friends, please, don’t _stand_ on ceremony for me. It will take a few moments for the dodo to fully emerge from its frosty egg, and I wouldn’t want to bore you standing here talking all this time.” There was a ripple of polite laughter. “Sit down. Ladies, if it would not embarrass you, kick off your shoes. The chairs in here are very comfortable, and they all have arms. I do hate when you’re trying to read a book and all the good chairs are taken,” he added as the room filled with the rustlings of dozens of millionaires sitting. They rattled their jewelry again in gratitude. Some of it was now in bowls. Many of the millionaires were now slumping in the unusually plush armchairs. The cube was almost completely melted; the tip of the dodo’s thick, round-tipped beak protruded from the ice.

“Now, sentimentalities over! And on to business. This bird, my sleepy friends, has survived many hardships! Hunting, poverty, flightlessness, even. But again and again, the avaricious avian survives under hardship, and returns again, stronger than before, with your generous donations, of course. After tonight, it will be wealthier, and wiser than ever, knowing how close it came to the brink of backing down, and how foolishly! I’m not referring, gentle friends, to the dodo, because it has been extinct since the mid sixteen-hundreds.”

The room was silent, and breathing deeply. The dodo, distressingly taxidermied-looking, wobbled a little on its stand as the last bits of ice dripped from it.

“I’m referring to a far superior specimen.” Penguin leaned close to the microphone, cigarette holder in his other hand, eyes afire, and said softly, “‘Cause _I’m a swingin’ bird, you finks_.”

There was silence.

“Riddler, let’s collect.”

The un-mustachioed Riddler, who had stripped backstage to his usual poison-green suit and bowler, leapt down and began harvesting from the first punchbowl.

“Not so fast, you two-faced pair!” shouted Batman as he and Robin leapt into the room. “There’s another surprise this evening!”

“ _Waugh!_ ” The Penguin blew a puff of smoke. The Riddler paused, with a fistful of cash half stuffed in his vest. “Batman and Robin! Riddler, you said they were eaten!”

“Curses,” muttered Riddler. “Those birds are nasty to each other, why couldn’t they be nasty to one little Dynamic Duo? I need better deathtraps, they never seem to work.”

“To arms, criminal conspirators!” yelled Robin, as he threw himself at the Riddler. The Prince of the Criminal Conundrum, however, was ready for him, and served him a neat slap with the bottom of the punchbowl. BAM! Robin tumbled over the table, becoming ignominiously tangled in the legs of an elderly woman.

Meanwhile, the Penguin leveled his umbrella and pressed a hidden button. FWOOM! The twirling top flew directly at Batman, propelled to deadly speeds by its Penguin-strength spring.

Batman stepped aside, his hand deflecting the razor-sharp point. The Bat-Gas Pills he and Robin had both taken outside protected them from the lingering fumes and the bright purple and red Penguin Gas that trailed from the spines of the umbrella.

Batman charged at Penguin, who was now deprived of his signature weapon. Undeterred, the Penguin pulled hard back on the handle, and the umbrella was recalled to its spindly home by the aid of special and very sophisticated magnets (although it might have looked like someone had just reversed the film). Batman, meanwhile, had gotten ahold of a guest’s umbrella. They met like rapiers. FWISH!

Riddler laughed and giggled, circling the opponents. Seeing an opportunity, he grabbed Batman’s shoulder and performed a neat martial arts topple… right into a spare armchair.

The Penguin lunged for blood. Batman seized the chair and swiftly yanked it between himself and his attacker. The Riddler tumbled to the floor before the umbrella pierced the chair, leaving a large tear in the upholstery. RIP!

Robin couldn’t resist commenting. “Way to ruin the upHOLEstery, Penguin!”

POW! He served that boisterous bird a neat right hook, and the Penguin staggered backward. Meanwhile, the Riddler tossed another punchbowl, stuffing its contents into his pockets with the other hand. CRACK! It broke on Batman’s reinforced armbraces as the hero shielded his head. Riddler danced back over to Penguin’s side.

“And how rude to the people who invited you to their Conference!” Batman added, as he and Robin drew together for a final assault.

“The niceties of law-abiding men!” shrieked Penguin, deploying his umbrella again. It struck between the Dynamic Duo, and sent them sprawling separately to the floor. “Criminals are deprived such luxuries, Batman! And there is one last surprise tonight!”

He glanced at Riddler. “You have all the donations?”

“Only my half, as promised, Pengy.”

“Very well.” Holding Batman’s eye and his umbrella at the ready, his free hand reached into his pocket. Holding the glittering collection of jewels and money, he held it out over the nearest, untoppled bowl, and dropped it.

Riddler gaped. “Penguin? What are you doing?! We could have been rich!”

“And we will be, Riddler, just not quite yet. For the sake of Bruce Wayne, Batman. A better man than you. Goodnight.”

And he and Riddler ran backstage. Instantly Batman and Robin were hot on their heels, but when they whipped the curtain aside, they had gone.

“Holy Houdini! Where could they have gone? Let’s search the whole island! They can’t have gone far!”

But Batman looked thoughtful. “Perhaps,” he said, “Bruce Wayne already made all the difference we could, just this once. They’ll be back, Robin, they always are. And the city’s bankbooks are saved.” They looked back at the pile of riches still on the floor. “We should attend to the people on the chairs. As I recall, Riddler’s Sleeping Gas tends to leave one with a disoriented feeling.”

“They’ll be even more disoriented when they learn the theme of the Conference was a sham!”

“They most certainly will. I’ll take Alfred’s advice next time, and read ahead. Come on, Robin, let’s resume our civilian identities, so that we can be among those sleeping when the police arrive.”

* * *

“They only took half the donations?” Commissioner Gordon looked flabbergasted. “But… then the city is saved! The Centennial Celebration can even go on as scheduled next week! And the Penguin, he showed no sign of what he was planning all the time he was staying at your house, Bruce?”

“No sign at all, Commissioner. He was a very Iago of a man.” Bruce sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I just wish I hadn’t been so easily taken in by his act.”

“Oh, don’t blame yourself, Mr. Wayne,” said Chief O’Hara sympathetically from beside Gordon’s desk. “Cleverer men than you have been taken in by his charm, especially the closer you get. He’s quite known for his charisma in the criminal underworld. You are an innocent man!” He gestured with his hat. “Don’t lose sleep over this.”

“Thank you, Chief O’Hara.” Bruce put a hand to his chin. “I wonder what caused the Penguin to recant half his ill-gotten goods, though. Could it be he’s finally grown a conscience?”

“If he has, he’ll shed it again come spring.”

“Are you sure, Commissioner? I…only got a glimpse before the gas knocked me out, of course, but I’ve never seen a look like that on a criminal’s face before. It looked like something had happened that would stick with him, even if he’d never admit it to anyone or outwardly alter his ways.”

“If there’s one thing the Penguin has taught me,” said the Commissioner, sitting at his desk and pulling out some papers, “it’s that criminals never change their feathers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! We'd love to hear what you thought.
> 
> Dwarvenbeardspores can also be found on tumblr as dwarven-beard-spores, and on dreamwidth as DwarvenBeardSpores (and rarely on twitter as @BeardSpores). 
> 
> LauraDoloresIssum is the void and you should tremble in fear.


End file.
